Mornings were chaos. “Four full-blooded little Grahams,” the young mother wrote in her journal. ” I feel this a.m. it’s gotten quite beyond me. They fight, they yell, they answer back. Breakfast is dreadful … Now they’ve gone off to school looking nice enough (for once) and with a good breakfast but with the scrappiest of family prayers … Grumbling, interrupting, slurring one another, impudent to me. So now they’re off, I’m in bed with my Bible thinking it through